


When to Fight

by Ajisai



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajisai/pseuds/Ajisai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred Pennyworth knows that there's a time and reason to fight, but teaching that lesson to Bruce Wayne isn't easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When to Fight

**Eight Years Ago**

Wayne Manor has plenty of hiding places, and Alfred Pennyworth is familiar with almost all of them, thanks to the efforts of Bruce, the only son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, who was a tendency to hide when he sulks. Today, though, Bruce isn't in all of his usual spots, and Martha is looking especially harried.

"Let me have a go," Alfred suggests. "You have the gala to prepare for."

Martha frowns, and nods in agreement. "That ridiculous party. I wish we didn't have to go. I'll look in the attic again and work my way down from there."

"Right. I'll stay here on the ground floor. One of us will have some luck."

She flashes him a weary smile and hurries up the stairs. Alfred quickly turns and heads for the kitchen. If there's one place young Master Bruce can usually be found, it's there, with all the quiet, dark spaces in cupboards, and of course, the cookie jar. _Best to check one more time_ , he thinks, _just in case_.

The kitchen is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. Alfred pauses, listening for any sound beyond that, and then he hears it: a sneeze. It's coming from one of the far cupboards, where the baking supplies are, and Alfred isn't very surprised when he opens the door to find young Master Bruce covered in flour. 

"Your Mother's worried sick," he gently admonishes.

Bruce sneezes again and looks dustily contrite. "I hit the shelf when I stood up and it fell. The flour broke, too. Can you fix it?"

An hour later, with Thomas and Martha safely on the way to the gala, Alfred helps Bruce clean up the mess and inspects the shelf. Just as Bruce said, the wood's broken in half, but fortunately, it's going to be an easy fix.

"Can I help you with that?" Bruce eagerly asks.

"Yes, you can. Fixing something when it's broken is the right thing to do."

"Yes." Bruce nods in solemn agreement, so serious that Alfred barely manages to hide his smile at the last moment.

**Now**

The funeral is long over, and Wayne Manor is silent more often than not. Sometimes, Alfred looks at Bruce and wonders how to explain that fixing things isn't always as simple as repairing a broken shelf or appliance, not by any stretch of the imagination. Bruce has methodically gathered information about his parents, about their deaths, about the state of the company, but he clearly doesn't know exactly what to do with it, how to take the knowledge he's gained and use it to fix everything. Alfred fears that there is no easy fix, but every time he tries to approach the subject, Bruce stops talking, or does something foolhardy, and the conversation's over.

In lieu of actually talking, Alfred keeps teaching him how to box.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Bruce asks as they break for lemonade one afternoon. The sun's shining down weakly through heavy clouds, making the entire estate look dreary and dull.

"Here and there. On my feet." Alfred has a long list of reasons why his ward is not going to hear about service in the SAS, at least any time soon, mostly notably that young Master Bruce is just that--young, far too young.

"That's not an answer, you know," Bruce says. "I wish--..."

Alfred sighs. He has a strong suspicion he knows what Bruce is about to say, and the answer to that wish isn't easily grantable: it will be a long while before adults will take a child's wish for respect seriously. He clears his throat. "You're right, that's not an answer, at least, not a good one. I'll tell you why I learned to fight, though. I learned to fight so that I could stop things from being broken."

Bruce looks puzzled as he chews this over. "You mean... fighting repairs things? That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't repair things, but it can prevent the damage from becoming worse."

"Like when you fought those people who tried to come here and kill us."

"Yes." Alfred regrets that entire series of events, but he holds that opinion back. "Exactly. Now, let's try again."

Bruce gulps down the rest of his drink and nods, focusing on the challenge ahead. Alfred wonders if he should mention that part of the challenge of proper fighting is knowing exactly when something is broken and violence is actually necessary, but he dismisses the thought. _Later_ , he thinks, _there will be time later_.

**Author's Note:**

> For randomme's 2014 Fandom_stocking.
> 
> I hope that readers won't mind my headcanon that Alfred is ex-SAS. My SO and I have had long discussions over this and we think it explains Alfred's badass fighting skills. :)


End file.
